Confessions of a Country Girl

Here it is. My deep dark secrets. The things you spend years hiding. The times in your life when you look back and say, "WHAT WAS I THINKING?" I decided to tell it all. Stop reading now I tell you. You will never see me the same. You will laugh, say EWWWW, and yell "Depart from me you worker of iniquity!" So I tell you, read no further. Spare yourself the gross details. Stop while there is still a shred of respect left for me!

I do not flush the toilet at bedtime. I do not know when this started, it just has always been. Until I got married, I thought no one flushed the toilet at night time. I never did at my house. Maybe we lived in such a small house we thought we would wake everyone up. Maybe I thought I was saving water. Yes, that is the excuse I am going with. I was environmentally conscience. I was concerned about my carbon footprint at age 4. Al Gore would be so proud!

I refused to eat hush puppies. Until college I refused to eat hush puppies. Being the literal person I am, I took the word as its obvious translation would appear. I assumed these round fried balls of flavor were made from puppies that would not stop barking. This is how they would hush puppies. (I did not, however, have any aversion to the shoes.) When I was a freshman in college, a group of my "sorority sisters" and I went to Red Lobster. When one of my sisters picked up a hush puppy, I publicly scolded her and expected everyone to join in, being the animal activists that we were. Instead, there was dead silence followed by, "They are bread, not puppies you idiot." Oh well, forgive me for not being Julia Childs.

I love pats of butter. In elementary school, I loved the school cafeteria. I was never a picky eater and I thought the school food was scrum-diddly-umptious! But my favorite day was spaghetti day. Not for the Italian cuisine, the hot rolls, or even the brownie. It was for the pat of butter. It laid all by itself on the white paper partition. Partially still chilled and creamy. I could not wait to dive into the butter. I would even lick the paper. Soon, I drew attention to myself. A crowd was around me. Watching me eat the pats of heavenly butter and offering theirs to encourage my fetish. What? Attention? Well hello beautiful butter, come to momma. This was as close to heaven as I could imagine in my 7-year-old mind.

I stole a soap container. My sophomore year of high school, I attended cheer camp with my fellow cheer friends. We all took our turns getting ready for the shower. It took forever...soap, shampoo, conditioner, shaving creme, razor, hair scrunchy, etc. I had body wash. Oh I felt so grown up. But Laura brought a soap container with Irish Spring in it....and she left it in the shower. I swear by the power of my God Almighty that I have no clue what got into me, but as I stood there I looked over and saw her soap container with Irish Spring and I just dumped the soap out, placed my body soap in it and then went and told her that her soap was on the floor in the shower! I looked so innocent, I had no clue. But I stole her container!! Why? I did not even have a bar to put in it. It was not even pink, no sequins, no kelly green and pink, not even Izod! Just a plain old 99 cent white soap holder from Wal Mart. I think my parents considered therapy.

I cry at Alabama's "Never Be One" I will never forget riding to church in 1990 and popping in the Alabama Mountain Music cassette tape. Oh how we could rock out...until number 8. Oh, the tears would start flowing. My mom would ask me if I was okay. Okay? How could I be okay? THE TWO'S ARE TUMBLING ON IN!!! Did she not understand? Soon her legs will grow and make the tricycle go and take her away from us all. For the love of God, who would write a song like this????

Just listen... (you have to scroll down and click on Never Be One)
This is all I can bear. I have disclosed too much. I am departing...

Love,
Your Worker of Iniquity